Today I worked the Farmers' Market in the Park Blocks downtown. The Wednesday market is usually a little bit harder to work, just because space is tight enough that I can't really work inside the market, and so I have to stay out on the sidewalk or on the grass, which is cool if I can find some place to lean my case up against, but not so cool if I can't. I love the downtown Farmers' Market because people there are always really friendly - even when they don't flip you any change (which is most of the time) they at least give you a smile (which pretty much makes up for it). The manager of the market (at least I think she's the manager) and I have had a few minor run-ins about where and when I play, but she's basically pretty cool. I sometimes forget that when I'm playing around other groups, even when I'm a ways off, that the sounds can clash a little bit. I'm always really agreeable, though, and I move just as soon as I'm asked. Best to avoid trouble that way, right?

As I walked up to the market from my bus stop, I heard shouting. "Okay," I thought, "I'll just figure out where that's coming from and try to keep away." When I get up to the market, I see the source of the shouting: a youngish street preacher, all fire and brimstone. I see him around a lot, and he's never gone after me personally, so I've never had any real problem with him. Other people, including a bunch of the sellers in the market, are getting a little bit more impatient with this guy. Actually, they've had to deal with him for at least an hour (I got downtown later than I wanted, but that's more or less not a problem since most traffic doesn't really get by me until around the lunch hour) and by the time I showed up they were just pissed off. Religious tolerance is a good thing; a crazed man screaming that everyone around him is covered in sin is a little bit harder to deal with.

In any case, I decide to just avoid this guy. I set up on the opposite corner of the block, near where I usually play. I tune up and run through a few little things, when my good friend the manager in her red apron shows up. I wind down, put my violin under my arm, and flash her my most charming smile, showing teeth.

"Hi there. What can I do for you today?"

She smiles back, disarming me a little bit. Doesn't look like she's got a problem with me today.

"Oh, don't worry. You're fine playing there. I mean, you sound good. I was just wondering if you could... help us out. You know, do us a favor."

She looks over at the street preacher meaningfully. His face is starting to go red, and he stops yelling for a moment to take a swig of water from the gallon jug he holds in his non-bible hand. I'm getting an idea of what she wants, but I decide to let her spell it out for me.

"Sure. How can I help?"

"Would you mind going head-to-head with that guy? You don't have to talk to him or anything, just play opposite him. Loud."

The baker in the stall behind me, a young guy, pipes up.

"You do that and you can get a cookie, no charge."

Rad. I let my smile get just a little bit wider, show some more teeth. I'm starting to like this idea, and I don't turn down free food. So I pack up my case and carry it over to the tree opposite the preacher. And then I just pull out all the stops. This guy could definitely get his voice way up. I mean, he was loud. Luckily for me, I can play just as loud when I want. Get up in that high register, and it starts to get a lot harder to drown me out. More than just the satisfaction of trying to cut this guy off a little bit (I really don't appreciate value judgements being made on me or other people around me, and being called a sinner is a pretty big value judgement in my book) I also started to pull in customers. Not only were people giving me money for just playing, like they usually do, they were actually more likely to give me money because I was competing with Mr. Shouty across the walkway. After close to an hour of this, my red-aproned manager pal came over to give me the move-along. Turns out there was another group that wanted my spot, and the way she saw it, they'd be even louder. This is probably true, but that doesn't mean that I wanted to give up a prime space like the one I had. I'm nice, though, so I let it slide. I started to pack up my stuff, when all of a sudden I start to hear something behind me. It's someone clapping, a few people clapping, and then honest-to-god applause. This is the first time that I've actually gotten a crowd to clap for me when I'm playing. So I walk away from this (to another corner on the other side of the market for a few more hours) with a decent take, a job offer for the next weekend (some manager for another market wanting me to play there, in a dedicated spot. You here that? No more fighting for prime space!), and some genuine appreciation for what I'm doing. Feels good, you know? Never did get that cookie, though.

Tomorrow: Hawthorne, maybe? Last Thursday on Alberta for sure.